THE  INDIANA  SOCIETY  OF  CHICAGO 


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DORTER 


EDWARD  P,  I  ..    :• 


THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


•' 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 


AFTER    THE    FLOOD 


By 
GENE  STRATTON  PORTER 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright   191 1 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  Co. 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 


CHAPTER  I 

HOW    THE    FIRST    CARDINAL    GOT    HIS    RED 
COAT 

JIM  CROW  had  been  feasting  on  green 
maize  quite  close  to  Cardinal  Grosbeak's 
sitting-room  in  a  stag  sumac.  When  his 
corn  meal  was  finished  he  perched  on  the 
fence  that  separated  the  field  from  the 
thicket,  to  polish  his  beak,  and  the  Cardinal 
in  his  flaming  suit,  followed  by  a  pair  of 
his  nestlings  only  two  suns  on  wing,  paused 
for  a  visit.  Jim  Crow  gazed  at  Cardinal's 
brilliant  plumage  with  envy. 

"Trap  me!"  he  cawed,  "but  I  would  love 
to  know  where  you  got  that  coat." 

I 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

"Have  you  never  heard?"  chipped  Car 
dinal  in  surprise.  "I  thought  you  knew  the 
history  of  every  bird  in  the  woods.  We 
have  been  teaching  our  nestlings  from  their 
shells.  Our  young  ones  only  two  suns  from 
their  cradle  know.  Chipper,  suppose  you 
tell  Jim  Crow  how  the  first  Cardinal  came 
to  have  a  red  coat." 

Chipper  fluffed  with  importance.  His 
mother  was  going  to  teach  him  the  traditions 
of  all  the  birds  she  knew,  and  she  had  begun 
with  their  own  family.  Her  young  ones  so 
loved  the  story  that  they  had  made  her  re 
peat  it  until  they  could  correct  her  if  she 
varied  in  one  note.  It  was  delightful  to  be 
able  to  teach  the  wise  Crow  something,  so  he 
gripped  the  sumac  limb,  fluffed  his  feathers, 
flared  his  crest  until  it  leaned  forward  and 
began : 

"His  name  was  'ist  only  Grosbeak,  'cos 
he  had  such  a  big  beak,  and  his  coat  was 

2 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

gray,  all  plain  gray.  It  was  right  after  the 
grea'  big  flood  had  drown  all  the  other 
birds,  except  him  and  his  mate,  so 
right  away,  soon  as  the  sun  had  dried 
things  a  little,  they  hurried  up  and  built  a 
sitting-room  and  went  to  work  to  raise  more 
Grosbeaks,  'cos  it  was  dreffle  lonely  with 
only  two  in  the  family.  So  they  built  a 
beau'ful  nest  and  Mother  Grosbeak  was 
brooding,  faithfully  as  ever  she  could,  and 
Father  Grosbeak  got  tired  carrying  food  to 
her  all  the  time,  and  he  never  could  keep 
quiet,  'specially  'ist  after  being  shut  up  in 
the  big  boat  so  long,  so  he  think  he'll  take  a 
little  pleasure  trip  up  the  river,  and  his 
name  was  Grosbeak  and  his  coat  was  gray, 
'ist  common  gray. 

"So  he  was  flying  close  the  river,  and 
hopping  from  bush  to  bush,  and  chipping 
'bout  everything  he  saw,  yes  and  two  three 
times  he  got  picked  good,  'cos  he  chipped 

3 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

sweet  chips  at  other  birds'  mates,  and  there 
wasn't  only  'ist  two  of  all  and  every  kind 
there  were,  and  all  the  males  were  taking 
the  goodest  care  ever  of  their  own  mates, 
and  if  Father  Grosbeak  came  hopping  up 
sidewise  to  any  female  and  whispered  sof 
and  sweet,  'Dearie,  dearie,  dearie!'  and  her 
mate  heard  him,  why  nen  Father  Grosbeak 
have  to  fly  like  the  wind,  nelse  he  lose  a  good 
big  beakful  of  feathers;  but  he  don't  ever 
care,  'cos  very  next  "bird  he  see,  he  hop 
straight  and  chip  same  thing  to  her,  'cos  he 
can't  help  it,  for  his  name  Grosbeak  and  his 
coat  was  gray,  'ist  gray. 

"So  he  was  flying  up  the  river,  and  right 
there  on  the  bank  he  saw  the  loveliest  female 
ever,  ever  in  all  the  world,  'cos  she  was 
Mother  Nature,  when  she  was  young.  Her 
eyes  were  'ist  sky  blue,  and  her  cheeks  'ist 
rose  pink,  and  her  lips  'ist  fire  red,  and  her 
beau'ful  green  dress  'ist  float  and  wave 

4 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

around  her — and  there  she  sat.  She  was  all 
tired  out  cleaning  the  grea'  big  flood  off 
everything,  'cos  she  had  to  wash  away  the 
mud,  and  dry  the  ground,  and  start  things 
growing  again,  and  she  thought  she'd  rest 
a  little,  so  she  sat  on  the  bank,  'ist  the  love 
liest  ever,  and  while  she  rested  she  was  mak 
ing  flowers  to  brighten  the  earth.  She 
had  some  green  stems  sticked  on  the  bank, 
where  they  could  see  theirselves  in  the  water, 
and  she  was  making  the  beau'fulest  little 
ragged  flowers  you  ever  saw  and  dipping 
them  into  a  pot  of  red  paint,  and  squeezing  a 
drop  of  honey  into  each  one  of  them,  for 
the  bees,  and  to  make  them  all  so  sweet  and 
smelly,  and  sticking  them  on  the  stems  and 
when  they  were  all  finished  they  were  cardi 
nal  flowers,  and  they  were  so  pretty  that 
when  they  saw  theirselves  in  the  water  they 
blushed  redder  than  ever  she  maked  them. 
"Mother  Nature  was  'ist  all  so  bright  and 

5 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

happy;  she  was  humming  a  little  sof,  mur- 
mury  song,  and  smiling  to  herself,  and  cock 
ing  her  head  on  one  side  to  see  if  she  was 
getting  those  flowers  the  very  prettiest  ever 
she  could  make  them ;  and  here  came  Father 
Grosbeak  flying  beside  the  river  and  saw  her! 
And  she  'ist  so  beau'ful,  she  took  his  breath 
away. 

"He  'ist  stop  short  and  perch  on  a  limb, 
and  flare  his  crest,  and  flutter  his  wings,  and 
try,  and  try  to  make  her  look  at  him;  but 
she's  so  busy  making  the  world  fresh  again, 
she  ain't  going  to  stop  to  pay  'tention  to  'ist 
only  one  little  gray  bird ;  so  she  go  on  making 
her  flowers,  and  dipping  them  into  the  red 
paint,  and  dropping  in  the  sweetening,  and 
sticking  them  on  their  stems.  Father  Gros 
beak  try  over  and  over,  but  she  don't  even 
pay  any  'tention  'tall.  He  'ist  think  she  so 
beau'ful  he  feel  as  if  he'll  fly  to  pieces  if  he 
can't  make  her  look  up  soon,  so  he  lean  'way 

6 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

over,  and  flare  his  crest,  and  spread  his 
wings,  and  flutter  and  call  to  her  sof  and 
loving  as  ever  he  can,  'Girlie,  girlie,  girlie!' 

"Mother  Nature  never  look  up,  but  he 
watching  'ist  dreffle  close,  and  he  see  her 
hands  go  slower,  so  he  hop  little  closer,  and 
spread  himself  little  wider,  and  call  little, 
lovinger,  'Dearie,  dearie,  dearie!' 

"Then  Mother  Nature  stop  short,  and 
look  straight  at  him  and  she  smile,  and  when 
she  smile,  why  nen  she's  beau'fuler  'an  any 
thing  in  the  whole,  whole  world  and  Father 
Grosbeak  feel  so  wild  in  his  head,  he  hop 
right  close  to  her,  and  'ist  rock,  and  flutter, 
and  his  feathers  'ist  quiver,  and  his  eyes  'ist 
gleam,  and  he  'ist  beg  and  plead,  all  so  sweet 
and  loving,  'Come  here,  come  here,  come 
here!' 

"Mother  Nature  she  sit  still  holding  one 
flower  she  'ist  dipped  into  the  red  paint,  and 
trying  to  petend  she  don't  care,  but  she  do. 

7 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

She  'ist  tickled  half  to  death.  She  'ist  tickled 
so  she  have  to  listen,  'cos  all  and  everybody 
been  so  busy  cleaning  away  the  flood,  and 
getting  ready  to  live  on  the  ground  again, 
they  haven't  had  time  yet  to  go  out  and  live 
with  her,  and  make  up  songs  about  her  beau 
ty,  and  write  stories  and  poems  about  her, 
and  paint  pictures  of  her  face,  and  tell  her 
over  and  over  how  they  love  her,  and  what 
Father  Grosbeak  say  sound  so  new,  and  so 
good, — she  'ist  have  to  listen  'cos  she  only 
a  female  you  know,  and  she  get  so  flusterated 
she  never  see  a  big  butterfly  striped  black 
and  green,  with  long  trailers,  that  had 
alighted  in  her  lap  and  was  feeling  round 
after  her  honey,  and  her  hand  shake  so  she 
spill  a  drop  of  red  paint  right  on  one  of  his 
beau'ful  back  wings  'ist  above  the  trailer. 

"  'I  thought  I  was  finished,  Mother,'  he 
telled  her  and  she  said,  'You  are,  Ajax.     I 

8 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

maked  you  handsome  as  ever  I  knew  how.' 

"And  he  said,  Then  why  did  you  put  that 
red  on  my  wing?' 

"And  she  said,  'Land  o'  love !  If  there  is 
red  on  you,  my  hand  shaked  and  I  spilt  it.' 

"And  he  said,  Take  it  off.' 

"And  she  said,  'I  can't  take  it  off,  'cos  it's 
m-del-i-b\e.' 

"And  he  said,  Then  what  will  I  do?'  I 
don't  want  one  red  spot  on  me.' 

"And  she  said,  'Raise  your  wings  above 
your  back,  Ajax,  and  hold  them  togevver 
tight,  and  half  that  paint  will  stick  to  the 
other  wing.  Then  spread  them  and  sit  in 
the  sun  until  the  paint  dries  and  you  will  be 
two  little  specks  better  looking  than  you  were 
beforehand  then  you  fly  straight  away,  'cos 
I  haven't  time  to  bother  with  little  butterflies 
round  my  honey  right  now.'  Then  she  smile 
at  Grosbeak,  and  he  go  so  crazy  he  come  fly- 

9 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

ing  full  tilt  and  light  right  in  her  lap,  and 
look  into  her  face  and  'ist  sob  and  sing,  'So 
dear,  so  dear,  so  dear !' 

"Mother  Nature  stir  softly  and  bend  over 
him  so  loving,  and  no  bird  ever  know  'ist 
what  she  zvas  going  to  do,  'cos  here  come  his 
mate  all  so  tired  with  brooding  all  night  and 
no  bath  and  no  early  worm,  and  see  him  sit 
ting  in  Mother  Nature's  lap,  singing  to  her 
the  song  Mother  Grosbeak  love  best  and  she 
cry  to  him  mighty  cross,  'Chook!  Chook! 
Why  don't  you  come  home  and  brood  until 
I  take  my  bath  and  find  something  to  eat?' 
He  'ist  sit  there  all  stiff  with  fright,  and  his 
name  was  Grosbeak  and  his  coat  was  gray, 
— 'ist  all  plain,  common  gray. 

"Mother  Nature  and  Mother  Grosbeak 
they  'ist  glare  at  each  other,  and  then  quick 
as  anything,  Mother  Nature  grab  Father 
Grosbeak  and  stick  him  splash  into  her  red 
paint.  Yes  and  she  'ist  hold  him  there  until 

10 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

every  feather  on  him  soaked  good  and  red, 
and  she  hold  him  down,  and  hold  him  'til  he 
choke,  and  choke,  and  choke  'til  he  all  black 
in  the  face.  Then  she  lift  him  up,  and  brush 
away  the  clouds,  and  let  the  hot  sun  'ist  pour 
on  him  and  dry  him  quick. 

"Then  she  give  him  a  sling  and  say, 
'There!  You  want  to  make  love  so  bad, 
I'll  'ist  change  you  to  love's  own  color,  so  all 
and  every  bird  in  the  woods  will  know  you 
are  a  deceiver  far  as  ever  they  see  you  com 
ing/ 

"Then  she  jump  up  and  go  sailing  over  the 
mountains,  'ist  mad  as  fire,  and  leave  Father 
Grosbeak  sitting  there  shaking  his  head  to 
get  the  paint  from  his  mouth  and  turning 
redder  and  redder  all  the  time. 

"Mother  Grosbeak  came  spluttering  up 
and  she  cried,  'Chook,  chook !  My  dear,  you 
are  ruined !'  Then  'ist  like  a  female  she  be 
gin  to  chip  it  was  all  her  fault,  and  rub  him 

II 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

with  her  wings,  and  work  to  get  the  paint 
away  with  her  feet  and  beak,  and  pretty  soon 
she  get  it  on  her  until  she  tinged  with  red 
herself.  Father  Grosbeak  see  what  she  do 
ing  and  he  chip,  'Look  out!  You  getting  it 
all  over  you!' 

"Then  she  hurry  to  the  water  and  bathe 
and  soak  and  try  to  wash  the  red  away,  but 
she  don't  know  that  paint  in-ote/-i-ble  and 
won't  come  off  ever.  She  'ist  think  she  got 
it  off;  then  she  come  flying  and  seize  Father 
Grosbeak  by  his  wing  and  pull  him  to  the 
water  and  try  to  push  him  in.  He  perch  on 
a  limb  and  lean  to  wash  his  mouth  and  then 
he  first  see  his  red  coat.  He  so  s'prised  he 
almost  fall  into  the  river.  He  forget  all 
about  the  bad  taste  in  his  mouth  and  begin 
to  fluff,  and  flirt,  and  feather,  and  swell  up 
and  chip  and  chatter  and  he's  so  pleased. 

"Mother  Grosbeak  think  he  gone  crazy  as 
a  Loon.  She  scream  at  him,  'Chook,  chook ! 

12 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

Get  into  the  water  and  wash  the  dreffle  stuff 
away  quick.  Hurry  and  take  a  bath!' 

"Father  Grosbeak  cry,  'Chip,  chip! 
Right  away!'  And  then  if  he  doesn't  go 
sailing  to  the  top  of  the  very  highest  tree 
he  can  see  and  spread  himself  in  the  sun  to 
dry  the  red  in,  faster,  he's  so  happy  over  his 
new  coat,  and  he  'ist  whistle,  and  scream, 
and  cry  to  all  the  other  birds,  'See  here! 
See  here !' 

"Mother  Grosbeak  so  mad  at  the  way  he 
act,  she  'ist  fight  to  get  a  little  red  she  see  yet 
off  her  feathers.  She  scour  her  beak  on  the 
stones,  and  bite  her  toes,  but  she  can't  ever, 
so  at  last  she  think  if  she  don't  go  back  to 
her  nest  and  brood  all  her  eggs  will  be 
chilled. 

"After  a  long  time  Father  Grosbeak  come 
to  their  sitting-room  and  he's  tickled  so  over 
over  his  red  coat  he  'ist  jump,  and  flirt,  and 
chip  all  the  time;  but  he's  sorry  Mother 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

Grosbeak  feel  so  bad,  so  he  go  kiss  her  and 
promise  sure,  he  won't  ever,  never  flirt  with 
any  other  female  again,  and  he  never  has; 
but  always  since  he's  been  black  in  the  face, 
and  he's  been  name  'Cardinal,'  'cos  his  coat 
has  been  red,  'ist  all  the  brightest  red  ever." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    FIRST    CONCERT 

AFTER  the  flood  Wood  Robin  with  his 
mate  Bell,  chose  a  damp,  cool  location 
beside  the  water,  where  pink  mallows  flow 
ered  and  soft  winds  spiced  with  ink-colored 
pawpaw  bloom  waved  the  fringy  willows. 
Here,  among  the  wild  grape  that  clambered 
over  a  giant  sycamore  they  carefully  built 
their  sitting-room. 

The  very  next  day  they  heard  a  voice  they 
recognized  and  Wood  started  to  find  ex 
actly  where  it  came  from.  He  soon  discov 
ered  that  his  cousin  and  only  rival,  Hermit 
Thrush  and  his  mate  the  Swamp  Angel 
were  building  their  sitting-room  across  the 

15 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

little  bay.  They  were  working  on  a  home  in 
a  tangle  of  button  bushes,  above  which  giant 
forest  trees  shut  out  most  of  the  light,  and 
beneath  tall  fern  fronds  and  feathery  marsh 
grasses  waved  over  leaf-lined  pools  whose 
purple  surfaces  were  broken  by  ragged 
patches  of  silver,  where  the  light  fell  strong 
est  and  sentinel  torches  of  fox  fire  flamed  at 
the  very  edge  of  the  water. 

Wood  went  home  appearing  thoughtful. 

"What  is  the  trouble?"  inquired  Bell,  as 
she  tucked  a  piece  of  grape  bark  into  the 
cradle  lining. 

"Cousin  Hermit  has  settled  in  the  button 
bushes  just  across  the  bay." 

"Lee !  Lee !"  exclaimed  Bell.  "I  am  de 
lighted.  With  only  one  pair  living  of  every 
family  on  earth,  company  is  so  scarce,  we 
certainly  are  unusually  blest  in  having  a  near 
relative  so  close." 

"If  the  musical  reputation  of  the  family 
16 


depended  on  you,  perhaps  you  would  not  be 
so  pleased." 

"Why  not?" 

"Lee !  Lee !  If  you  would  take  more  in 
terest  in  me  and  less  in  that  cradle,  you 
would  understand." 

"You  forget,  Wood,  that  on  the  outcome 
of  this  cradle  rests  the  future  of  our  fam 
ily.  If  we  do  not  produce  a  brood  before 
anything  happens  to  either  of  us,  Hermit  is 
left  undisputedly  the  Prince  of  Song." 

"Lee!  Lee!  I  had  forgotten  that.  But 
he  is  not  the  Prince  of  Song  now,  is  he  ? 
Are  not  my  notes  more  musical  than  his?" 

"Of  course  I  think  so,  but  you  may  be 
lieve  the  Swamp  Angel  does  not.  'Why 
don't  you  call  the  birds  together  to-night 
and  challenge  him  to  sing  against  you  at  a 
concert  and  allow  them  to  decide  once  for 
all  as  to  which  is  the  sweeter  singer?" 

"Suppose  they  decide  he  is." 
17 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

"That  will  be  no  worse  for  us  than  it  will 
for  them  if  the  majority  decides  on  you. 
Solomon  Owl  has  the  reputation  of  being 
the  wisest  bird,  Jim  Crow  the  smartest,  and 
Quaker  Dove  the  most  tender  and  truth 
ful.  Go  ask  them  to  come  listen  this  even 
ing,  then  arrange  with  Hermit  to  sing  all 
your  notes,  one  strain  at  a  time,  against 
each  other  and  accept  their  decision  as  final. 
That  will  be  perfectly  fair  to  each  of  you, 
and  I  know  who  will  win." 

So  Wood  Robin  arranged  for  the  rival 
concert,  and,  that  evening  when  the  last 
rays  of  the  sun  fell  in  long,  red  banners  of 
light  across  the  water  and  all  the  woods 
were  quiet,  he  hopped  from  branch  to 
branch  of  the  sycamore,  peered  across  the 
bay  and  listened  intently.  At  last  he 
fluffed  his  feathers,  lifted  his  beak,  swelled 
his  throat  and  softly,  oh,  so  softly  sent  this 
challenge  over  the  water,  "Uoli?  Uoli?" 

18 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

Among  the  ferns  across  the  purple  water 
a  soft  wind  carried  the  answer,  indescrib 
ably  sweet  and  faint,  "O  fear  all!"  Then 
stronger  and  clearer,  "O  fear  all!"  Then 
clear,  high,  cool  and  passionless  from  the 
button-bush  that  was  his  home  rang  the 
notes,  "O  fear  all!" 

Wood  Robin's  challenge  was  answered. 
He  lifted  his  shoulders,  his  wing  butts 
pressed  his  sides,  his  throat  swelled  fuller. 

"A-e-o-l-i!"  Lovingly  rounding,  full 
ing,  accenting  each  vibrant  note  he  spelled 
it  out  with  utmost  care. 

Immediately  the  Hermit  raised  to  his 
pitch,  and  through  the  damp  green  silence 
of  the  wood,  evenly,  clearly,  with  molten 
sweetness  poured  the  answer,  "Oh,  u-o-lee! 
Oh,  u-o-lee!" 

"Noli,  noli!"  flung  back  Wood  Robin's 
silver-bell  toned  voice. 

"Oh,  kler-ah-wah!    Kler-ah-wah!"  rolled 

19 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

the  serene,  piercing  sweetness  of  the  Her 
mit. 

Wood  Robin's  knees  stiffened.  His  beak 
parted  farther.  He  bent  far  toward  his 
rival,  and  sweeter  than  the  finest  golden- 
toned  flute  struck  his  chords,  "A-e-o-lee,  lee, 
lee!  A-e-o-lee,  lee,  lee!" 

Then  with  a  tense  shiver  he  listened. 

High,  pure  and  clear,  across  the  little  bay 
swept  the  Hermit's  melody,  "O  kler-ah! 
O  kler-ah!" 

Wood  Robin  stretched  to  his  utmost 
height,  filled  his  lungs  and  swelled  his 
breast,  pointed  his  beak  Heavenward  and 
in  mellow  cadence,  rising  higher  and  higher 
to  piercing,  painful  sweetness,  and  then 
tenderly  caressing  each  tone  in  the  golden 
throat,  he  sank  to  a  whisper  and  silence. 
"Uoli?  U51T?  A-e-o-l-e!  Noli,  nol!  A-e- 
o-lee!  lee!  lee!" 

The  Hermit  gripped  the  twig  he  stood  on, 
20 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

tucked  his  tail,  lifted  his  beak,  and  in  calm, 
even  tones  of  pure  serene  sweetness,  with 
delicate  prelude,  shaking  trills  and  throb 
bing  melody,  poured  his  full  strain  in  an 
swer,  "Oh,  fear  all!  Fear  all!  Oh  u-o-lee! 
Oh  u-o-lee!  O  kler-ah-wah!  O  kler-ah-wah! 
O  kler-ah!  Kler-ah!" 

Wood  Robin  closed  his  beak  and  hopping 
to  a  lower  branch  went  before  the  judges 
for  the  decision.  A  little  later  he  returned 
to  Bell  who  anxiously  awaited  the  answer. 

"Have  they  agreed?"  she  chirped. 

"They  have  all  agreed,"  answered  Wood 
Robin  slowly. 

"They  are  unanimous?" 

"Yes." 

"And  it  is—" 

"They  have  decided  that  I  can  beat  him 
on  color  and  richness  of  tone;  and  that  he 
has  a  serene  purity  that  I  cannot  surpass." 

"Lee,  lee!"  cried  Bell.  "I  think  that  is 
21 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

lovely.  Now  neither  of  you  can  boast  over 
the  other.  That  means  that  some  will  like 
one  of  your  songs  best  and  some  will  care 
most  for  the  other." 

"That  is  what  it  means,"  replied  Wood 
Robin. 


CHAPTER  III 

A    KINGFISHER    QUARREL 

"TTRRRRRRRR!  Bless  my  bones!" 
*^  rattled  Billy  Kingfisher  on  his 
flight  from  the  river.  He  crossed  the 
gravel  pit,  and  sailed  over  the  frog-pond 
lying  below  his  front  door,  where  he 
alighted  in  haste.  "Whatever  is  all  this 
noise  about?" 

"Urrr!  Billy!"  replied  Minny,  as  she  left 
their  sitting-room  and  went  down  the  long 
hall  to  meet  him.  "The  twins  persist  in 
quarreling." 

"What  an  amazing  thing!"  exclaimed 
Billy.  "When  that  boy-animal  wrecked 
our  sitting-room  and  broke  five  of  our  eggs 
with  a  stick,  I  was  not  utterly  desolate. 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

We  could  rebuild  the  walls,  have  omelet  for 
breakfast,  and  it  did  seem  that  twins  would 
be  a  rest  after  the  families  for  which  we 
have  provided  in  previous  seasons.  But  I 
never  was  more  mistaken.  This  pair  has 
the  appetites  of  the  seven  we  expected,  and 
the  more  they  eat,  the  faster  they  grow  and 
the  worse  they  behave.  The  boy  will  come 
again  if  they  are  not  quiet." 

"I  do  the  best  I  can  with  them,"  explained 
Minny.  "They  are  so  full  of  life;  and  they 
are  the  cunningest  nestlings  we  ever  had." 

"If  you  will  remember,  you  think  that 
every  migration.  I  don't  suppose  these. dif 
fer  from  the  others.  You  notice  them  more 
because  you  have  more  time  to  look  at  them. 
How  are  they  feathering?" 

"Finely!  Scarcely  a  pin  shows  in  their 
suits.  Having  only  the  pair  I  am  afraid 
we  almost  have  stuffed  them,  and  if  there  is 
any  one  thing  I  detest  above  all  others,  it  is 

24 


-AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

a  stuffed  bird.  Of  course  their  beaks  and 
eyes  will  grow  larger,  and  their  crests  flare 
higher,  yet  they  surpass  any  youngsters  I 
ever  have  seen  now.  They  do  have  the 
broadest,  snowiest  collars.  Spotty's  breast- 
band  is  blue  as  his  back,  and  Dotty's  brown 
as  a  thrush.  Their  coats  are  blue  as  sky 
and  her  vest  and  her  apron,  lily  white.  We 
named  them  most  appropriately.  Every 
mark  on  Spotty  is  a  small,  irregular  spot, 
and  on  Dotty  is  a  perfectly  round  dot.  And 
if  I  do  mention  it  myself,  I  keep  them  clean. 
No  birds  can  chatter  that  we  are  not  im 
maculate,  even  living  in  a  dug-out." 

"Hear  what  Mummy  sings  about  me?" 
inquired  Dotty  in  the  sitting-room. 

"It  is  about  me  'ist  as  much!"  retorted 
Spotty  indignantly. 

"No  such  thing!"  rattled  Dotty.  "My 
last  lunch  I  had  a  minnow  and  a  blackberry 
and  the  berry  juice  made  the  fish  bones  all 

25 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

black  and  when  I  guggiltated  they  flew 
against  you  and  soiled  your  collar  dreffully. 
You  are  not  a  clean  bird." 

"I  am  too !"  answered  Spotty,  struggling 
to  twist  his  head  so  that  he  could  see  his 
neck.  "Mummy  knows  I  am  clean, — 'sides, 
it's  re-guggiltated,  anyway!" 

"I  am  going  to  have  the  next  fish!"  an 
nounced  Dotty.  "I  will  sit  straighter,  stick 
my  bangs  higher,  and  be  cuter  than  you  and 
Mummy  will  give  it  to  me." 

"I  will  be  politest  and  she  will  give  it  to 
me,"  retorted  Spotty.  "You  are  always 
thinking  about  your  looks." 

"I  am  not!"  rattled  Dotty  angrily.  "  'Al 
ways,'  means  all  the  time,  and  what  I  am 
thinking  right  now  is, — that  if  Mummy  goes 
fishing  I  will  drive  you  to  the  front  door  and 
push  you  into  the  frog  pond." 

"Urrrrr!  Dottie!"  rattled  Spotty  re 
proachfully. 

26 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

"I  will!"  insisted  Dottie  stoutly.  "And 
when  you  fall,  kersplash !  into  the  frog  pond, 
the  old  frog  Mummy  will  croak,  'Shitepokes ! 
What  kind  of  new  baby  has  rained  down  to 
me?  I  will  be  compelled  to  make  this  crea 
ture  all  over  before  it  can  live  with  us. 
There  isn't  a  thing  about  it  will  do  for  a 
frog  except  its  eyes.'  Then  she  will  take 
you  and  unpin  every  feather  on  you.  She 
will  strip  you  all  bare  naked,  an'  the  water 
will  be  so  cold  you'll  'ist  shiver  an'  rattle 
drefrully." 

"Urrrrrrr,  Dotty!"  quavered  Spotty. 

Dotty  proceeded  remorselessly. 

"Then  you  new  frog  Mummy  will  croak, 
'No  one  ever  heard  of  a  frog  with  a  long 
beak.  That  must  come  off!  Then  she  will 
take  you  to  a  rough  stone  an'  rub  your  bill 
against  it  an'  rub,  an'  rub.  It  will  hurt 
worse  than  all  the  fish  bones  that  ever 
scratched  you  made  into  one  big  bone,  mak- 
27 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

ing  one  big  scratch,  an'  she  won't  ever  care. 
She'll  'ist  rub,  an'  rub,  an'  it  will  be  suns  an' 
suns  before  it  all  wears  away.  Nen  you'll 
have  a  grea'  big,  wide-open  frog  mouth." 

"I  won't!"  rattled  Spotty. 

"You  will !"  retorted  Dotty  with  convinc 
ing  calmness.  "An'  then  she'll  croak,  'My 
sun  an'  my  song!  Was  there  ever  'nother 
such  frog?  Here  it  is  with  fore  legs  three 
times  too  long  and  hind  legs  three  times  too 
short.'  'Nen  she'll  begin  pushing  your 
wings  right  back  inside  you,  an'  she'll  push, 
an'  push,  an'  push,  'til  she  makes  little  short 
frog  fore  legs  out  of  them,  so  you'll  never, 
never  get  to  fly.  All  the  time  you'll  'ist 
rattle,  an'  rattle  with  the  dreffle  hurt  of  it. 
P'r'aps  I'll  sit  in  the  front  door  an'  watch 
an'  I'll  look  down  an'  say,  'Now!  Don't  you 
wish  you  hadn't  'bused  me  ?' ' 

"I  ain't  'bused  you,  Dotty,"  cried  Spotty, 
his  big  eyes  popping  as  he  backed  close 
28 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

against  the  farthest  wall  of  the  tiny  sitting- 
room. 

"You  have!"  insisted  Dotty.  "  'Nen 
she'll  begin  on  your  legs.  She'll  pull,  an' 
pull,  an'  you'll  rattle  an'  rattle.  Mummy 
will  hear  you  an'  she  will  cry,  'Good  for  such 
a  bad  bird!'  An'  your  new  frog  Mummy 
will  keep  right  on  pulling,  until  she  pulls 
your  little  bit  o'  short  kingfisher  legs  into 
grea'  long  frog  legs.  'Nen  when  you  want 
to  go  anywhere  you'll  have  to  hop  along  on 
the  ground,  but  you  can  always  look  up  an' 
see  me  flying  around  among  the  tree  tops! 
An'  every  time  you  stick  your  head  above 
the  water,  a  boy-animal  will  try  to  catch  you 
an'  tear  off  your  legs  to  fry  for  his  supper." 

Spotty  shivered  in  silent  terror. 

"An'    then,"    continued    Dotty,    gloating 

over  her  success,   "she'll  take  a  grea'  big 

stone  an'  beat  you  until  your  back  is  all 

greenery-yellow,  an'  she'll  make  you  lie  on 

29 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

a  stone  in  the  sun  until  it  burns,  an'  burns 
your  tummy  all  yellery-green.  'Nen  she'll 
throw  you  into  awful  cold  water  an'  she'll 
make  you  sit  an'  sing,  'P-u-r-t!  P-u-r-t! 
P-u-r-t!'  all  the  whole  night  long;  but  you'll 
know  I  am  sound  asleep  in  our  cradle,  tucked 
safe  an'  warm  against  Mummy's  breast." 

"Urrrrrrrrrrr,  Dotty!"  wailed  Spotty. 

That  gave  Dotty  inspiration  for  a  climax. 

"An'  then,"  she  concluded  with  a  flour 
ish,  "  boy-animals  will  catch  you  with  a  net 
sticked  'way  down  in  the  water  where  you 
can't  ever  hide  from  it.  They  will  run  a 
big,  sharp  hook  under  your  chin,  up  through 
your  mouth  and  out  of  your  nose,  and  put 
you  into  the  river  for  fish  bait.  You'll  see 
a  grea'  big  catfish,  long  as  our  hall,  an'  all 
slickery  black  an'  yellow,  with  big,  sharp 
horns,  coming  straight  at  you,  an'  he'll  see 
you  an'  stop.  He'll  think,  'How  nice  an' 
fat  that  frog  seems!  B'lievc  I'll  eat  him!' 

30 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

Nen  that  catfish  will  bite  you  dreffully  an' 
swallow  you  very  slow,  like  Mummy  sees 
'em  do  at  the  river  every  day.  An'  she'll 
see  it  eat  you  an'  she  won't  ever  care." 

Spotty  sent  up  a  rattle  of  anguish.. 

"Dotty!  Spotty!  You'll  have  that  boy- 
animal  after  us  again!  If  you  don't  stop 
your  noise  I'll  put  both  of  you  into  the  cradle 
and  cover  you  until  you  half  smother," 
threatened  Mother  Minnie  from  the  front 
door.  "Dotty,  I  believe  it  is  you  teasing 
again.  For  shame !  To  seem  so  nice  and 
then  be  forever  naughty.  Kiss  your  dear 
little  nest-mate  on  the  spot!" 

"Which  spot?"  questioned  Dotty. 

"The  little  white  one  before  one  of  his 
eyes." 

So  Dotty  gave  Spotty  a  little  peck,  with 
out  any  love  in  it,  and  they  snuggled  into  the 
fish  bone  cradle  side  by  side,  but  Spotty 
looked  steadily  at  Dotty  with  his  big  re- 

31 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

proachful  eyes,  until  he  made  her  squirm. 
At  last  he  told  her,  very  close  to  her  ear  and 
quite  softly,  "I  want  you  to  be  a  beau'ful  bird 
an'  fly  to  the  river  an'  go  fishing.  I 
wouldn't  ever  push  you  into  the  water  to  be 
made  into  a  old  croaky  frog." 

Dotty  wavered  and  was-  lost. 

"Spotty,  I  was  'ist  p'tendin'.  I  ain't  go 
ing  to  push  you,  really." 

"Then,"  answered  Spotty,  with  large  for 
giveness,  "you  may  rest  your  bill  across  my 
neck." 


CHAPTER  IV 

HOW     SLIVERS     SHEILPOKE     GOT     HIS 
SLICKER 

WHILE  he  was  raising  his  first  family 
after  the  flood,  Slivers  Sheilpoke 
worked  as  never  before  in  his  life.  He 
recognized  the  supreme  importance  of  that 
brood.  To  raise  them  was  his  only  chance 
of  keeping  his  family  alive  on  the  earth. 
So  he  and  his  mate  agreed  that  she  should 
remain  in  their  sitting-room  all  the  time  and 
he  should  provide  for  the  entire  family. 
This  meant  that  Slivers'  usual  work  would 
be  doubled,  and  that  he  would  spend  most 
of  his  time  in  the  water,  because  he  waded 
and  dived  for  almost  every  bite  they  ate. 
There  never  was  time  to  dry  his  coat  from 

33 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

one  plunge,  until  he  was  compelled  to  take 
another  in  order  to  stop  the  hunger  cries  of 
his  four  long,  skinny,  big-beaked  young 
sters. 

Soon  he  grew  so  water-soaked  and  his 
muscles  became  so  strained  in  flight  with 
wet  pinions  that  he  decided  to  take  a  trip  to 
the  head  of  the  lake  and  consult  Dr.  Wood 
Duck,  who,  although  a  notorious  quack,  was 
yet  the  best  physician  among  the  birds. 
Slivers  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of 
paying  a  bill  if  he  could  avoid  it.  He  was 
kept  too  busy  to  suit  him  providing  worms, 
frogs  and  minnows  for  his  family;  so  he 
pretended  that  he  had  seen  the  doctor  acci 
dentally  and  stopped  for  a  friendly  visit. 
He  waded  among  the  water  grasses  calling, 
"Good  swimming,  Dr.  Duck!  Hope  you 
are  finding  yourself  in  fine  feather  this 
sun-up !" 

"Slick  as  grease,"  quacked  Doc,  mightily 
34 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

pleased  to  have  a  caller  who  did  not  want  a 
prescription  for  lice,  gastritis,  poison,  traps 
or  guns. 

"That's  the  truth!"  cried  Slivers,  envious 
as  possible,  for  Doc  dived  after  a  worm  and 
arose  to  the  surface  without  a  wet  feather 
on  him.  "How,  on  water,  do  you  keep  your 
coat  so  dry?" 

"Keep  it  well  oiled,"  quacked  Doc.  "But 
if  you  think  my  suit  is  waterproof,  you 
should  see  my  cousin  Canvas  Back." 

"Has  he  a  better  coat  than  you?" 

"He  is  always  dry  as  punk,"  quacked  Doc. 

"I  am  going  to  hunt  him  up  and  offer  him 
ten  beakfuls  of  worms  for  enough  canvas 
to  cover  my  back." 

"Qua!  Qua!"  laughed  Doc.  "He  won't 
spare  you  any.  He  is  a  perfect  miser  with 
his  canvas.  He  sticks  closer  to  it  than  any 
thing  else  on  water.  The  best  thing  for 
you  to  do  is  to  use  your  grease  bottle  liberally 

35 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

on  your  coat  and  so  make  a  slicker  for  your 
self." 

"But. I  do!"  complained  Slivers.  "Seems 
to  me  as  if  I  spend  half  my  time  oiling,  and 
yet  I  am  always  water  soaked." 

"Let  me  have  a  look  at  your  grease  bot 
tle,"  quacked  Doc,  his  professional  instincts 
rising  so  that  he  forgot  about  Slivers  paying 
a  social  call. 

"Couk!  Couk!"  cried  Slivers  in  delight, 
for  he  thought  he  was  going  to  get  what  he 
wanted  without  depositing  even  one  worm 
on  Doc's  bill.  So  he  waded  a  little  deeper, 
stood  his  feathers  on  end  and  Doc  examined 
his  grease  bottle. 

"Quack!  Quack!"  cried  Doc.  "There 
has  been  a  miscarriage  here.  Your  grease 
bottle  is  not  half  large  enough  for  a  wader 
and  diver,  with  such  a  heavy  coat  of  long 
hairy  feathers.  We  must  aid  nature.  You 
must  take  some  oil  and  soak  your  feathers 

36 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

completely  in  it  and  then  sit  in  the  sun  and 
dry  them  carefully.  Then  you  will  have  as 
good  a  slicker  as  any  of  us." 

"But  where  will  I  find  the  oil?"  inquired 
Slivers  so  eagerly  that  Doc  realized  the  fact 
that  he  was  being  fooled  into  giving  a  free 
prescription. 

"How  do  I  know?"  answered  Doc.  "I 
have  told  you  what  you  need,  it  is  your  look 
out  to  find  it.  The  world  is  full  of  oil.  You 
should  be  able  to  secure  plenty  somewhere." 

Slivers  saw  that  he  had  all  that  he  was 
going  to  get  for  nothing,  so  he  began  tell 
ing  Doc  how  smart  his  nestlings  were,  what 
a  beautiful  mate  he  had,  how  he  admired  the 
feather-bed  she  had  made  for  her  family, 
how  Blue  Heron  was  gobbling  every  frog  on 
the  lake  shore,  that  it  was  his  firm  conviction 
that  Wood  Picker  was  abusing  his  family, 
and  that  Night  Hawk  went  out  for  no  good. 
After  he  had  done  all  he  could  to  make  his 
37 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

visit  appear  as  a  friendly  call  he  bade  Wood 
Duck  good  feeding,  and  leisurely  waded 
from  sight.  Then  he  took  wing  and  every 
spare  minute  between  providing  meals  for 
his  family  he  hunted  oil. 

But  in  the  beginning,  so  soon  after  the 
flood,  there  was  no  oil  floating  on  the  water, 
as  there  is  in  these  days.  Poor  Slivers 
searched  for  oil  instead  of  food  for  himself, 
until  he  became  slim  as  King  Rail.  All  sun 
up  Slivers  hunted  oil.  All  moon-up  Slivers 
searched  and  dreamed  of  oil.  Every  sleek, 
finely  feathered  bird  he  passed  in  flight,  he 
stopped  and  wanted  to  know  if  its  grease 
bottle  furnished  all  the  oil  it  used  or  whether 
it  had  got  some  from  outside  sources,  and  if 
it  had,  where  he  could  secure  some.  He  be 
came  such  a  nuisance  that  the  remainder  of 
the  birds,  every  one  of  whom  was  extremely 
busy  and  anxious  over  keeping  its  family 

38 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

safely,  in  order  to  perpetuate  its  kind,  flew  a 
mile  from  their  courses  to  avoid  him. 

One  sun,  Slivers  had  stuffed  his  mate  and 
family  and  was  out  hunting  oil.  On  the 
Lake  Shore  Flight,  he  met  Black  Bird,  whose 
exquisite  gleaming  slicker  filled  him  with 
envy. 

"Well  I'll  be  shot!"  cried  Silvers,  "I  never 
saw  anything  so  fine  as  your  coat!  Tailor 
Bird  must  have  used  especial  care.  It  fits 
to  perfection  and  shines  as  the  sun.  What 
feathering  do  you  use?" 

"Oil,"  answered  Black  Bird. 

"You  must  have  beakfuls  and  beakfuls." 
suggested  Slivers,  "to  shine  as  you  do." 

"I  have  all  I  need,"  responded  Black  Bird. 

"But  have  you  more  than  you  need!" 
eagerly  questioned  Slivers.  "I  know  where 
there  is  an  old,  rotten  log,  filled  with  the 
biggest,  creamiest  grubs  you  ever  saw.  I'll 

39 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

trade  you  all  you  can  swallow  at  one  feed 
for  a  beakful  of  your  oil." 

"Whose  beak;  yours  or  mine?"  inquired 
Black  Bird. 

"Mine,  of  course!"  answered  Slivers. 

"Trap  me!"  cried  Black  Bird.  "T'check! 
T'check!"  And  he  sprained  his  wings  fly 
ing  for  Black  Bird  settlement,  at  Cat-tail 
corner. 

"Something  seems  to  check  me  every 
time  I  have  struck  oil,"  lamented  Slivers. 

"Kut,  kut,  kut!"  laughed  a  passing  Robin 
Redbreast.  He  perched  on  a  limb  and  held 
his  sides  with  his  wing  butts.  "That  is 
what  the  man-animal  calls  a  joke.  Kip! 
Kip !  Kip !  I  think  that  is  awfully  clever !" 

"Slivers  doesn't  seem  to  agree  with  you," 
suggested  King  Bird  whose  sitting-room 
was  close. 

"Why  they  never  did!"  answered  Robin 
innocently.  Then  King  Bird  and  his  mate 
40 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

began  to  laugh.  Robin  jumped  six  inches 
from  the  limb  crying,  "Kut!  Kut!  Kut! 
If  I  haven't  made  one  myself!" 

Slivers  took  wing.  He  was  completely 
discouraged  about  finding  oil.  So  he  began 
to  plan  some  other  method  by  which  he 
could  come  into  possession  of  a  waterproof 
coat.  As  nature  had  failed  him,  he  decided 
that  he  would  try  until  he  secured  one  him 
self.  Early  next  morning  while  fishing  at 
the  Lake  Shore  Crossing  he  saw  Mud  Turtle 
hunting  frogs  among  the  reeds,  and  as  he 
watched  he  had  an  idea. 

"Good  hunting,  Mud!"  he  called. 

"If  I  had  legs  as  long  as  yours,  a  beak  as 
long  as  my  legs,  and  frogs  lived  in  deep- 
water,  maybe  it  would  be,"  answered  Mud, 
crossly. 

"I  shall  be  pleased  to  have  you  lunch  with 
me,"  Slivers  told  him.  "I  have  heaps  of  the 
finest  grubs  you  ever  tasted  in  cold  storage, 
41 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

% 

and  I  shall  be  glad  to  share  my  treat  with 
you." 

"Thank  you  kindly,"  replied  Mud.  "I 
shall  be  delighted.  But  you  will  have  to 
bring  the  treat  here.  I  can't  leave  the 
water." 

"You  must,  if  you  lunch  on  grubs,"  Slivers 
replied.  "They  are  in  my  refrigerating  log 
and  it  would  take  me  all  sun-up  to  carry 
enough  here  a  beakful  at  a  time,  to  fill  your 
shell.  You  can  come  easily.  It  is  only  a 
short  way." 

"I  don't  like  to  leave  home,"  objected  Mud. 

"I  am  mighty  sorry,"  replied  Slivers.  "I 
know  you  would  enjoy  a  feast  of  grubs;  but 
perhaps  your  cousin — Snapping  Turtle — will 
make  just  as  entertaining  a  guest." 

"Lead  the  way,"  commanded  Mud. 
"Really,  I  cannot  resist." 

Slivers  walked  far  enough  ahead  that 
there  was  no  chance  for  Mud  to  do  any  back- 
42 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

biting,  entered  his  cold  storage  room, 
brought  out  a  big  fat  grub,  and  dropped  it  on 
a  toad-stool  before  Mud.  He  took  it  at  a 
snap,  blinked  his  little  yellow  eyes  and  smiled 
from  ear  to  ear. 

"Ever  taste  anything  better  than  that?" 
questioned  Slivers. 

"I  never  did,"  answered  Mud. 

"Then  walk  right  in  and  eat  your  fill," 
urged  Slivers. 

Mud  looked  at  him  as  if  he  thought  him 
loony  and  hurried  to  the  mouth  of  the  log. 
His  shell  was  much  wider  than  the  opening 
and  although  he  squeezed  and  clawed  and 
crowded,  he  could  not  enter.  Then  Slivers 
stock  back,  and  he  grinned  from  ear  to  ear. 

"I  can't  get  in,"  groaned  Mud.  "What 
shall  I  do?" 

"Come  out  of  your  shell,"  answered 
Slivers.  "Then  you  can  hump  your  back 
and  enter  easily." 

43 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

"But  I  never  in  all  my  life  left  my  shell," 
quavered  Mud.  "If  I  leave  it  and  anything 
happens  to  it,  I  soon  should  become  so  water- 
soaked  I  should  die.  I  can't  possibly  do  it." 

"It  seems  as  if  it  would  be  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world  for  you  to  slip  from  it,"  com 
mented  Slivers,  trying  to  hide  his  eagerness. 
"There  is  no  possible  danger.  I  am  right 
here  to  watch  it." 

Mud  was  crazy  for  the  grubs  and  that 
settled  it.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
came  out  of  his  shell,  puffing  and  strug 
gling,  and  humping  his  soft  pink  back  he 
hurried  into  the  log  and  began  snapping  up 
grubs  for  dear  life. 

The  instant  he  went  from  sight,  Slivers 
began  trying  to  put  on  Mud's  coat.  With 
all  his  might  he  tried  to  force  his  beak 
through  the  shell  and  out  of  the  opening  for 
the  head,  his  wings  through  the  place  for  the 
fore  legs,  and  his  legs  through  the  other 
44 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

openings.  He  worked  and  tugged  and 
struggled;  but  his  breast  bone  was  so  deep 
he  could  not  force  it  inside  the  narrow  shell. 
Jim  Crow  saw  him  while  sailing  overhead 
and  immediately  paused  to  investigate. 
When  he  realized  that  Slivers  was  trying  so 
wear  Mud's  shell,  he  almost  went  into  con 
vulsions. 

"Caw,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha!"  he  cried. 
"Shoot  me!  Trap  me!  Poison  me!  But 
that  is  the  funniest  sight  I  ever  saw !  Caw ! 
Caw !  But  I'm  laughing  like  a  crazy  Loon. 
Oh,  what  a  spectacle  for  the  eyes !  Wait  un 
til  I  meet  the  other  birds!  Caw,  ha,  ha, 
ha!" 

As  soon  as  Slivers  knew  that  he  was  dis 
covered,  he  gave  up  trying  to  put  on  Mud's 
waterproof  coat,  and  at  the  same  instant 
he  realized  that  Mud  was  emptying  his  store 
room  while  he  had  nothing  to  pay  him  for 
the  loss  of  his  best  provisions. 
45 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

"Mud !  Mud !"  he  cried.  "Come  quickly ! 
Here  is  Jim  Crow  trying  to  steal  your 
shell." 

Mud  came  scrambling  from  the  log.  To 
see  him  in  his  bare  skin  was  a  sight.  Jim 
Crow  almost  split  his  throat  cawing.  It 
was  a  mercy  to  Mud  that  things  happened 
as  they  did,  for  if  he  had  eaten  a  few  more 
grubs  he  never  could  have  entered  his  shell 
again.  As  it  was,  he  struggled  with  all  his 
might  and  at  last  forced  himself  in,  al 
though  he  puffed  in  rolls  at  every  opening. 
Then  he  turned  turtle  and  went  humping 
for  the  water  as  fast  as  ever  he  could,  which 
was  not  half  quick  enough  to  suit  him. 

After  that  experience  Slivers  gave  up 
hunting  a  slicker  and  tried  to  make  oil  to 
use  on  the  coat  he  had.  He  pulled  the  fat 
test  angle  worms  from  the  mud,  and  picked 
the  creamiest  grubs  from  the  banks  and 
tried  to  fry  them  on  a  flat  rock  in  the  sun. 
46 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

But  all  of  them  dried  up  like  little  twigs  so 
that  plan  had  to  be  abandoned. 

One  sun  he  was  flying  down  the  Lake 
Shore  Air  Line,  wet  as  a  drowned  rat,  and 
feeling  very  downhearted,  when  he  noticed 
a  little  path  leading  from  the  woods  to  the 
lake  shore, — a  path  that  had  been  used  until 
it  was  smooth  and  hard.  While  his  eyes 
were  popping  with  fear,  he  followed  it  and 
learned  that  if  you  seek  long  enough,  some 
sun,  somewhere  you  are  going  to  find  the 
thing  for  which  you  are  searching.  That 
path  led  straight  to  a  depression  in  a  big 
stone,  filled  with  pure,  clean,  golden  oil. 

"Couk,  Couk,  Couk!"  cried  Slivers  and 
then  remembered  that  he  should  have  been 
still  as  a  mouse,  so  he  stood  staring  and 
trembling  with  delight.  This  appeared  to 
be  his  chance.  A  nicer  bathing  place  could 
not  have  been  imagined,  and  there  was 
enough  oil  to  make  the  finest  possible  slicker 

47 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

for  himself,  his  mate  and  all  their  brood,  so 
that  all  Sheilpokes  of  the  future  would  pip 
their  shells  to  an  inheritance  of  a  waterproof 
coat.  But  how  did  that  oil  happen  to  be 
there  and  to  whom  did  it  belong?  Slivers 
had  prospected  for  oil  long  enough  to  know 
that  it  is  not  going  to  waste  anywhere.  It 
belonged  to  someone  and  was,  no  doubt,  for 
some  especial  purpose.  Slivers  never  was 
so  tempted  in  all  his  life  as  he  was  to  wade 
in  and  take  his  bath,  immediately.  But  he 
feared  the  owner  might  be  secreted  among 
the  bushes  or  in  the  trees,  so  he  hid  himself 
and  watchd  the  oil,  until  he  became  so  sleepy 
he  scarcely  could  keep  his  eye  on  it.  He 
knew  his  mate  and  young  would  be  hungry, 
but  he  was  there  at  sunset,  and  still  watch 
ing  when  the  moon  was  high.  At  last  he 
heard  a  soft  pattering  of  cushioned  feet  and 
a  queer  grunting,  sniffling  noise,  and  with 
his  heart  beating  wildly  he  leaned  to  look. 
48 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

Down  the  path  waddled  old  Father  Rac 
coon,  and  like  a  flash  of  lightning  it  dawned 
on  Slivers,  that  the  pool  contained  the  fat 
with  which  he  would  line  his  ribs,  and  those 
of  his  family,  for  their  long  Winter  sleep, 
and  he  only  left  his  hollow  tree  home  at 
night.  Was  there  ever  better  luck? 

"Couk!  Couk!  Couk!"  cried  Slivers, 
forgetting  all  caution  in  his  delight.  Then 
he  trembled  with  the  fear  that  Father  Rac 
coon  would  grow  suspicious  and  move  his 
reservoir,  until  he  almost  fell  off  his  perch. 
Father  Raccoon  sat  on  his  haunches  and 
looked  all  around,  growling  mighty  fierce 
and  mad-like. 

"Who's  that?"  he  cried  angrily. 

Slivers  almost  shook  off  his  feathers,  but 
he  remained  quiet. 

"Who's  there?"  he  cried  again,  fiercer 
and  madder. 

Slivers  was  afraid  to  keep  still  any  longer 
49 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

so  he  muttered  through  his  nose,  all  so 
sleepy  like,  "Coou-ow-ooh-uwk !" 

"Snouff,  Snouff,"  growled  Father  Rac 
coon.  "Slivers  Sheilpoke,  is  it?  What's 
the  matter?  Have  you  a  frog  in  your 
throat?" 

"Blue  Heron  wouldn't  be  guilty  of  leav 
ing  a  frog  for  anyone'else,"  mumbled  Slivers, 
catching  at  the  idea.  "I  swallowed  a  cray 
fish  and  the  bones  are  giving  me  the  night- 
hawk." 

"Snouff,  Snouff,  I  should  think  so,"  an 
swered  Father  Raccoon.  "Why  don't  you 
regurgitate  them?" 

"Coo-cou-ooh-hoo-uwak !  Don't  you  hear 
me  trying  to?"  answered  Slivers,  pre 
tending  to  choke  until  he  strangled  in  real- 
ity. 

"I  will  tell  you  what  to  do,"  ordered  father 
Raccoon,  most  peremptory  like.  "This  is  a 
mighty  unhealthful  location  for  strangers, 

50 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

and  no  doubt  you  will  choke  to  death,  or  die 
in  some  other  tragic  manner  if  you  remain 
here.  You  are  half  night-bird,  and  you  can 
see  plenty  well.  You  hurry  straight  home 
and  have  your  mate  run  her  bill  down  your 
throat  and  pull  out  the  bone.  And  after 
this  always  stay  at  home  while  your  food  is 
digesting,  and  you  will  have  help  close  if  you 
get  into  trouble.  Mind  you  remember!" 

"My  life  preserver!"  cried  Slivers. 
"Thank  you  mightily!  You  have  saved  me. 
—And  made  me  more  comfortable  than  I 
ever  was  before, — I  hope,"  he  added  softly. 
Then  he  flew  a  bee  line  for  home. 

With  his  mate  and  his  gawky  brood  in 
their  first  flight,  Silvers  returned  to  the 
stone  at  daybreak.  They  bathed  and  soaked 
in  that  oil.  Then  they  perched  on  the  top 
most  limbs  of  a  big  tree  and  waited  for  the 
sun  to  dry  it  in,  and  then  they  went  back  and 
repeated  the  operation. 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

Next  moon  time  Father  Raccoon  came  to 
his  reservoir  with  more  fat  to  store  away 
and  found  the  pool  empty,  and  wiped  dry. 
There  were  a  few  feathers  sticking  to  the 
sides  of  the  stone.  Angry  enough  to  kill, 
he  took  them  and  went  to  the  lake  and  called 
Dr.  Duck. 

"Doc,  whose  feathers  are  these?"  he 
asked. 

Doc  examined  the  feathers  carefully  and 
could  not  tell  to  save  his  neck. 

"Why  do  you  wish  to  know?"  he  quacked. 

"They  are  feathers  that  fell  from  the  coat 
of  some  bird  that  found  my  storehouse  and 
stole  every  speck  of  the  fat  I  was  collecting 
to  line  my  ribs  against  snow  time,"  answered 
Father  Raccoon.  "And  if  I  ever  catch  that 
bird,  believe  me,  I  will  make  the  feathers 
fly!" 

"Quack,  quack!"  laughed  Doc.  "Was 
there  ever  anything  easier  than  being  a  spec- 

52 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

ialist?  Those  feathers  are  from  the  suit  of 
Slivers  Sheilpoke  and  without  a  doubt  he 
took  your  oil  to  make  him  a  slicker.  He 
visited  me  not  long  ago  to  find  out  how  to 
make  his  coat  waterproof." 

"Snouff,  snouff!"  growled  Father  Rac 
coon,  mad-like  as  possible.  "He  never  will 
call  upon  you  again  if  I  get  a  chance  to  set 
my  teeth  in  him.  He  was  perching  close  to 
my  reservoir  last  moon  up,  and  I  heard  him 
make  a  noise  and  allowed  him  to  fool  me 
with  the  story  that  he  was  choking  on  a 
crayfish  bone.  Snouff,  snouff,  but  he  is  a 
dead  bird!" 

Next  sun-up,  Slivers,  scouting  around  the 
lake  shore,  dry  as  punk  and  happy  as  a  clam, 
paused  to  take  a  fair  aim  at  a  young  Bull 
Frog,  and  heard  an  unusual  clamor  among 
the  birds  of  the  location.  He  swallowed 
the  frog  and  then  crept  closer  to  find  Jim 
Crow  telling  all  the  other  birds  how  he  had 
53 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

seen  Mud  Turtle  come  out  of  his  shell. 
Slivers  sailed  among  them  and  taking  a 
prominent  perch  he  listened  to  the  story  in 
silence,  occasionally  adjusting  his  shining 
new  slicker  while  the  other  birds  cried, 
screamed  and  hooted  at  him  in  derision. 
When  Jim  finished  at  last  and  the  birds  fi 
nally  grew  quiet  enough  that  he  could  be 
heard,  he  yawned  indifferently  and  re 
marked;  "My  friends  and  relatives:  All 
our  lives  all  of  us  have  heard  traditions  of 
the  elegant  and  accomplished  Lyre  Bird. 
Permit  me  now  to  have  the  high  honor  of 
presenting  him  to  you." 

With  a  sweep  of  his  wings  toward  Jim 
Crow,  Slivers  sailed  away,  and  the  scream 
and  cries  that  followed  him  were  not  at  his 
expense. 


54 


CHAPTER  V 

WHY   THE    LOONS     WENT    CRAZY 


OUA,  QUA!"  laughed  Little  Duck. 
"Isn't  water  good?" 

"Bestest  of  anything,"  answered  Littlest 
Duck. 

"If  I  didn't  have  all  the  water  I  wanted  to 
paddle  and  swim  in,"  quacked  Little  Duck, 
skimming  over  the  surface  like  wind-driven 
down,  "I'd  go  crazy  and  be  put  in  the  'Sylum 
with  the  Loons." 

"Why  did  they  put  the  Loons  in  the 
'Sylum?"  asked  Littlest  Duck,  coming  up 
from  a  dive  with  a  worm  and  a  weed  in  his 
bill. 

"Good  water !  Don't  your  muvver  esplain 
noffin?"  cried  Little  Duck,  paddling  near 

55 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

and  tugging  at  the  weed  in  the  hope  that  he 
would  secure  the  worm  also. 

"She  didn't  displain  that,"  answered  Lit 
tlest  Duck,  hurriedly  gobbling  half  the  weed 
in  his  efforts  to  save  the  worm.  "You  quack 
about  it." 

"Qua,  qua,"  began  Little  Duck,  spinning 
after  a  water-fairy  as  he  saw  the  worm  dis 
appear.  "It  was  at  the  time  of  the  grea' 
awful  big  water,  and  it  rained,  and  it  rained. 
And  it  rained  until  the  water  came  up,  and 
came  higher  than  annyfing;  came  up  the 
highest  ever.  And  before  it  got  the  very 
highest  ever,  a  man,  and  his  mate  and  his 
brood  went  into  a  grea'  big  boat.  They  took 
a  pair  of  every  bird,  and  every  animal,  'ist 
all  every  kind  there  was ;  and  first  of  all  they 
took  the  water  birds,  'cos  the  higher  the 
water  got,  the  more  room  they'd  have  to 
swim  away,  and  the  less  land  the  others 
would  have  to  run  on,  qua,  qua!" 

56 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

Little  Duck  paused  to  wet  his  flat,  yellow 
bill  and  Littlest  Duck  floated  near  him  in 
wide-eyed  interest. 

"And  after  they  got  all,  'ist  every  kind 
there  was,  why  then  there  was  one  kind  they 
didn't  have,  'cos  that  was  the  Loons,  and 
they  liked  the  water  so  well  they  'ist  wouldn't 
leave  it.  The  man  tried  and  tried  and  he 
said,  'Verily,  I  fail  to  catch  those  divey, 
swimmy,  water  birds.' 

"And  his  mate  said,  'They  are  so  be 
holden  to  the  lakes  I  fear  thou  must  go  in 
the  boat  and  take  thy  nets.' 

"So  the  man  and  some  of  his  brood  taked 
a  great  big  boat  and  they  tangled  those 
Loons  in  the  nets  and  'ist  fished  them  from 
the  water,  and  then  they  put  them  in  a  little 
dark  place  with  'ist  sand  under  their  feet  and 
'ist  little  teeny  bit  of  water,  only  to  drink; 
nuffin  to  splash  their  feet  in,  or  bathe,  or  get 
things  to  eat  from,  'ist  only  to  drink. 
57 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

"Muvver  Loon,  she  get  so  mad  she  beat 
her  head,  and  flap  her  wings  and  scream; 
'ist  scream  and  scream  fit  to  kill  herself, 
only  no  one  can't  hear  her,  'cos  there  was  all 
the  land  birds,  and  all  the  tree  birds,  and  all 
the  water  birds,  and  all  the  animals  coming 
into  the  boat,  and  all  at  the  same  time  the 
Lion  roar,  'Arraugh,  arraugh,  arraugh,' 
and  the  Tiger  scream,  'Erough,  erough, 
erough,'  and  the  Sea-lion  bellow,  'O  ugh, 
ough,  ough,'  and  all  the  birds  'ist  cry,  and 
chip,  and  chatter  and  chirp  'bout  leaving  the 
trees,  and  the  land,  and  the  water,  and  old 
Muvver  Loon  she  was  screaming  worse  than 
any  one  of  them;  but  she  'ist  can't  scream 
louder  than  all  the  others  put  together. 

"And,  yes,  old  Father  Loon,  he  scream  too, 
loud  as  ever  he  can  and  when  that  doesn't 
do  a  bit  of  good,  old  Muvver  Loon  get  mad 
der  yet  and  she  fly  at  that  little  bit  of  water 
and  spill  it.  Then  she  slap  her  feet  and 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

sousle  her  head  in  it,  and  her  head  get  all 
sand  and  there  ain't  any  more  water  to  wash 
it  clean.  Nen  when  old  Favver  Loon  go  to 
slap  his  feet,  and  sousle  his  head,  there  ain't 
any  water  and  he  go  away  to  the  darkest 
corner  and  cry.  That  make  Muvver  Loon 
feel  so  bad  she  'ist  beat  her  head,  and  her 
wings,  'til  they're  all  bloody,  'ist  all  red 
bloody ;  and  the  rain  it  come  down,  and  come 
down,  and  come  down  on  the  boat,  and  the 
water  it  go  washing  by,  and  washing  by,  all 
round  them,  and  they  can  hear  it,  'ist  all  the 
time  they  hear  it!" 

"Quack,  quack,  quack!"  sobbed  Littlest 
Duck  in  sympathy. 

"And  old  Muvver  Loon,  she  won't  eat 
nuffin  'tall  hardly,  'cos  she  like  wet 
things,  and  green  things,  and  wormy 
things.  And  she  can't  hardly  get  her 
bill  and  feet  wet,  'for  the  water  all  gone 
'til  next  sun-up,  every  bit  gone,  and  her  bill 

59 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

and  tongue  get  all  yellozv,  and  her  feet  and 
legs  all  yellow,  and  the  skin  'tween  her  toes 
all  dry,  and  her  crop  draw  'way  inside  her, 
and  her  feathers  feel  all  pullery  and  stickery, 
and  she  'ist  perfeckly  mizzable. 

"Old  Favver  Loon,  he  more  mizzable  an 
she  is,  'cos  she  take  most  all  of  the  little  bit 
of  water.  He  'ist  lay  on  the  boat  bottom  and 
dry  up,  'ist  dry  up  'til  he's  only  bones  and 
feathers,  'cos  he  wants  water  so  bad.  Muv- 
ver  Loon,  after  she  scream  'til  she  can't 
scream  another  scream,  why  nen  she  lay 
down  and  dry  up  too,  and  all  the  time  the 
rain  'ist  pour  down,  right  close  above  them, 
and  the  water  'ist  gurgle,  and  sousle,  and 
splash  all  round  them. 

"Muvver  and  Favver  Loon,  they're  so  tired 
they  'ist  think  they'll  die,  they  get  so  worse 
mizzable  they  beat  their  heads,  and  try  to 
dive  through  the  boat  bottom,  and  try  to 
kill  theirselves,  'cos  they're  burning  up  and 
60 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

all  the  time  the  water  splashin'  all  round, 
'ist  everywhere,  escept  where  they  is,  quack, 
quack!" 

"Nen  one  sun-up,  why  the  rain  it  quit. 
Then  the  water  go  down,  and  go  down  'til 
the  trees  and  the  land  stick  through  and  the 
boat  stop.  The  man  let  all  and  everything 
come  from  the  boat  and  go  away,  and  all  of 
them  'ist  tickled  most  to  death  to  get  back 
to  the  land  and  the  water.  And  when 
everything  come  out  and  go  away,  why  the 
man  he  says,  'Has  everything  come  forth?' 
And  his  mate  say,  'Didst  thou  see  the  Loons  ? 
They  rebelled  worst  of  all.  Thou  wilt  be 
forced  to  carry  them  forth.' 

"So  the  man  go  to  the  boat,  and  there  lay 
the  Loons  'ist  so  near  dead  they  don't  know 
the  other  birds  are  gone,  and  he  picked  them 
up  by  the  xvings  and  carry  them  out  and  set 
them  beside  the  water.  And  they  'ist  sit 
there,  'cos  they  so  dried  up  they  can't  tell 
61 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

'tis  water,  quack,  quack!  Then  old  Muv- 
ver  Loon  she  'ist  think  maybe  it's  water,  and 
she  reach  out  and  slap  one  foot,  soft  and 
easy,  and  it  splash  like  water.  Nen  old 
Favver  Loon  he  reach  out  and  slap  one  foot, 
'ist  like  she  do,  and  it  do  splash  like  water. 
Then  old  Muvver  Loon  she  slap  the  other 
foot,  and  she  think  it  act  like  water;  so 
Favver  Loon  slap  his  other  foot,  real  hard 
and  he  'ist  sure  it's  water.  Then  old  Muv 
ver  Loon  she  reach  over  and  stick  in  her 
head  and  sousle  it  round  and  it  feel  so  ivet, 
and  so  cool,  and  so  good,  she  'ist  most  knoiv 
it's  got  to  be  water,  and  she  look  at  Favver 
Loon  so  'sprised  like,  and  nen  she  sit  back 
on  her  tail  and  begin  to  laugh  and  cry. 

"Then  Favver  Loon  sousle  his  head,  and 

it  feel  so  wet  and  fine,  he  sit  back  on  his  tail 

and  laugh  and  cry  worser  than  she  do.     Nen 

they  'ist  let  go  and  slide  into  the  water, 

62 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

splash!  and  bathe  their  skins,  and  soak  their 
feet,  and  dip  their  heads,  and  wet  their 
feathers,  and  drink,  and  drink,  and  gobble 
some  fat  juicy  worms  and  get  some  green 
weeds  with  them,  and  then  they  'ist  knoiv 
it's  got  to  be  real,  for  sure  enough  water, 
and  they  so  glad  they  'ist  cry,  and  laugh, 
and  scream,  and  they  'ist  go  clear  crazy 
over  that  water.  Nen  they  dive  away  off, 
and  there  ain't  no  man  ever  going  to  catch 
them  again,  quack,  quack! 

"And  the  man  say,  'Didst  thou  ever  behold 
anything  so  crazy  as  those  Loons?' 

"And  his  mate  say,  'Verily  I  never,  never 
did.  And  they  are  the  only  pair  left  to  mul 
tiply  and  replenish  the  earth  so  I  fear  after 
this  all  of  the  Loons  will  be  crazy;'  and  they 
always  have  and  that's  the  reason  they  put 
them  in  the  'Sylum." 

"Quack,  quack,  that's  enough  to  make  any 

63 


AFTER  THE  FLOOD 

water  bird  go  crazy"  quacked  Littlest  Duck. 
"It  would  'ist  kill  me." 

"Quack,  quack!     Me  too,"  agreed  Little 
Duck. 


THE  END 


OCT  23  1980 
DATE  DUE 

5  SEPl  i  1982 

!&6  i  1  19K 

INTERLIBR/ 

^RY  LOANS 

IO    J 

JN  1  ^  iqf 

4 

MAY  ! 

!  1  W# 

INTERLIBF 

ARY  LOANi 

IICR 

QCT2      1 

^R4 

FEB  C 

^  iyor> 

INTERLIBR 

ARY  LOANi 

UCK    DOT 

6  Ibbb 

JUNU 

J1986  . 

INuiiRLIB 

^Y  ^QJ^s 

TOR    UU1 

1 

pr>9 

:  : 

• 

ilftfc    APR 

291995 

CAVLOHO 

FMINTBDINU.a.A. 

PS2649  P64A63 
Stratton-Porter ,  Gene,  1863- 

1924 
After  the  flood  / 


nf  ^?U.T^RN  REG'ONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  220  468 


3  1210  00336  2389 


